Que Sera Sera
by Angelwings23123
Summary: His life had never been easy and neither is his afterlife. Between trying to avoid the temptations of his old life, Grim Reaper duites, and the fact that trouble had always plagued him like a curse, Harry is finding just how hard it can be. AU DLM cross
1. Treasure of Mine

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or concepts from Harry Potter or Dead Like Me. In fact, I don't really own much of anything... And now you've gotten me all depressed...

Note: Told in first person, Harry's point of view

Que Sera Sera  
by Angelwings23123

_"Que sera sera,  
Whatever will be will be,  
The future's not ours to see,  
Que sera sera"_-- Que Sera Sera by Pink Martini

Chapter One: Treasure of Mine

_"I've given up," said Irina, "and I'm not afraid. Only there's something I would like to understand. And I don't think anyone can explain it. You see, I know it's the end for me. I know it, but I can't quite believe it, I can't feel it. It's so strange. There's your life. You begin it, feeling that it's something so precious and rare, so beautiful that it's like a sacred treasure. Now it's over, and it doesn't make any difference to anyone, and it isn't that they are indifferent, it's just that they don't know, they don't know what it means, that treasure of mine, and there's something about it that they should understand. I don't understand it myself, but there's something that should be understood by all of us. Only what is it, Kira? What?"_  
--We The Living By Ayn Rand

The horcrux hunt is coming to an end much sooner than I thought it would--we now only have one more left to find. And now I can't seem to stop the growing anxiety over the inevitable battle that looms ever nearer on the horizon. I don't really know if I'm ready for it.

Ron and Hermione are here with me, but they don't understand. They couldn't possibly understand what it means for me: the end of this trip, the coming battle...

When Dumbledore first explained to me about the Horcruxes, I knew...and suddenly it all made sense. What I had to do. The reason for it all. And it bloody well terrified me. It's all happening far too fast. If I had interpreted the prophecy right... 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord...'

"How d'you think it'll happen?" Ron asked, coming up behind me on the hotel balcony where I had been standing, contemplating my fate.

(I had told my friends about the prophesy and Ron was positive that I would kill Voldemort and that would be that.)

"I expect it will be the killing curse," I replied softly as my hands tightened their grip on the railing turning my knuckles white.

"D'you think that'll work on him?" Ron asked, completely oblivious to the thoughts running through my head.

"No one has ever survived the killing curse."

"Except for you, Harry!" he said, slapping me on the back with a grin.

I made no reply to that as I stared sightlessly out at the night sky. Was I ready?

At that moment Hermione came running in, interrupting my thoughts.

"We've found it--the last one, we've finally found it!"

We found the last item--a pendent that once belonged to Godric Gryffindor at Godric's Hollow. It was buried somewhere in the rubble of the charred remains of a burnt down house. My parents' house. The sheer irony of it was overwhelming.

Of course, I had meant to visit Godric's Hollow when we had first started out on the horcrux hunt--but hadn't quite gotten around to it. I told myself that it was because I was just far too busy with finding the horcruxes, but the truth was that I couldn't quite bring myself to go back there.

And now I was back where it had all began. A shiver ran down my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I gazed at the ruin. I was back full circle and half expected Voldemort to pop out and off me right there... He didn't of course. I half wished he would.

I can't put into words what it was like sifting through the remains of that house. My parents had lived there. Had talked, laughed, and breakfasted there. Had fought, screamed, and died there. It was the place where they would have raised me had things not gone so terribly wrong.

Now there was mostly just dirt, stone, and other building materials; but every so often we would uncover something else. A scrap of fabric. A part of a shattered figurine. A broken plate. An empty potion vial. A twisted hair clip. Each and every one a part of a past that I would never know.

I wished that Voldemort would come to finish it. I wished that a horde of Deatheaters would come so that I could fight and scream and curse. I wished that anyone or anything would come to break the awful silence that encased the area like a shroud. The only sounds were that of the three of us sifting through the rubble--using both magical and muggle means. None of us dared speak.

I think we all felt a bit like grave robbers. This was a sacred spot. An important place for all wizardkind for historical reasons. An important place for me for more deeply personal ones. And here we were digging through it like some grubby-handed scavengers looking for a bit of treasure.

My throat tightened as I thought of the items that may have once been in the house. Things that had been taken by the thieves who had descended on the house like vultures after Voldemort's first fall taking anything and everything they could. Taking things that should have been passed on to me. Taking things that I now would never get to see or even know about. And now all that is left are scraps; shattered bits and pieces that create mere glimpses of what once was.

I don't really know how long it took us to finally find it. However, I was relieved when we did. It looked so small and innocent; glittering despite the dirt that covered it. I knew what it was as soon as I saw it. The last one we had to find. For some reason it now felt appropriate that we should find it here.

Muttering a spell and thrusting the magical dagger through it, I watched as it shimmered briefly as my hand grazed it. Afterwards it sat dead and lifeless in my hand. Dropping it to the ground where I stood, I turned and walked away-- never once glancing back.

Next stop: Riddle Manor. Surprisingly, I wasn't afraid anymore.  
--------------

We met up with the rest of The Order outside Little Hangleton. The tension was palatable in the air. We silently got into our positions that we had practiced --putting into action the strategy that had taken us weeks and weeks to develop. We had changed and revised it countless times and had practiced and practiced till everything was near perfect. But this wasn't practice and we knew that the battle to come would make previous ones seem like mere tiffs. This was it--the final battle. All or nothing. The end to the prophesy...one way or the other.

There was no element of surprise: they had been expecting us. I don't know how many Deatheaters there were--I had lost count. I didn't know where the others were--my focus was elsewhere. I went through the actions, acting on pure instinct...but it all was a bit surreal. Curses and shouts seemed muffled, the flash of lights and sight of others duelling far away. My eyes kept searching the crowd for a glimpse of the one I had come here for. I knew he was there-- my scar throbbed painfully.

It seemed forever till I finally spotted him. As I made my way through the crowd I could see that I had caught his attention. His narrowed red eyes focused on me and I steadily met them with the green of my own. This was it-- no turning back now. My gaze was steady, my steps sure. I wasn't afraid. I was ready for what was to come.

The final fight between me and Voldemort is a bit of a blur. I don't remember how many curses were fired, how many spells were dodged. But I do remember that moment. The moment I had been waiting for. The moment I knew would come. The moment when it finally ended in a flash of green light and a triumphant cry.

"Boy-Who-Lived indeed," Voldemort hissed as he checked to make sure that yes, I was in fact dead. Voldemort chuckles grew louder and louder as he turned to address everyone who had paused in shock at Voldemort's cry of triumph. Everyone's attention was on Voldemort as they tried to comprehend what they were seeing. (I don't think that anyone had actually expected me to die--and certainly not as quickly or easily as that.)

No one noticed as I stepped out of my body and collected the last horcrux touching my body's arm with a shimmer and I didn't notice what was going on around me. It was all a bit surreal. Not to mention odd...and not just a bit unsettling. So, I don't know who finally cast the killing curse--I wasn't really paying attention. But, Voldemort had such a shocked look frozen on his face when I collected the last and final part of his soul--this time from his dead body. He had been so sure of victory. I dare say it must have been quite a shock for him to discover that he in fact wasn't immortal after all. Not to mention the fact I wasn't even the one to deliver the killing blow.

It had all descended into complete chaos after Voldemort had been killed. And of course no one had noticed my actions. As I walked away--unnoticed and unobserved, a slight smirk tugged at my lips. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord...'


	2. Tomorrow Has Been Canceled

Chapter Two: Tomorrow Has Been Canceled

_"Due to Lack of Interest, Tomorrow Has Been Cancelled."--_unknown

I have always thought that the title 'The Boy Who Lived' was terribly ironic. Well alright at first I thought it was funny, then ironic, and then it was a bit annoying actually. After all, I knew that I hadn't really 'lived'. The title 'The Boy Who Died' or 'The Boy Who Pretended to Be Alive' would probably have been more accurate.

It all began that night at Godric's Hollow. The night I died. As I said before: no one has ever survived the killing curse and contrary to popular belief, I was no exception. When the curse hit I died...sort of. However, when Voldemort hit me with the killing curse fortunately--or unfortunately something went wrong.

As you know Voldemort had created horcruxes in an effort to obtain immortality. There is a balance to life and death--a natural order to things. And he tampered with that. Add to that that at that particular time he was one away from having created seven horcruxes and well... Seven is a very powerfully magic number and I don't think he quite knew what he was messing with.

So, back to that night. He fired the curse and it killed me but as it killed me it simultaneously created a seventh horcrux. The backlash from that destroyed Voldemort's body and in the chaos that ensued his soul--what was left of it anyway--managed to slip away.

And there I was not even two years old--dead and possessing my own body...sort of. I don't really understand it and I don't really think that Bert (he's my boss--more on him later) did either when he tried to explain it to me. Basically: I was technically dead (well, undead) but my body was still there and functioning because of the horcrux's magic, so I was somehow able to stay in my body and age normally.

That all changed however when Voldemort "killed" me the second time effectively destroying his own horcrux. I then became the Grim Reaper I had always known I was going to be.

I was about seven when Bert first explained it all to me properly. When a person dies a Grim Reaper takes their soul and guides it to the hereafter...or wherever (Bert wasn't really clear on where the souls actually go after they leave us.) Every Grim Reaper has a quota to meet and they don't know what that quota is until they take their last soul. Normally, that person then immediately becomes a Grim Reaper. But because of the unusual circumstances surrounding my death, that didn't really happen. Which is just as well because I can't really picture a one-and-a-half year-old running about taking people's souls.

The confusing part was that mortal body or no I was still a Grim Reaper. Or possibly a Grim Reaper-in-training. But, either way I didn't actually take any souls till I was seven. And then it was pet souls and it was only every so often. My first actual human soul was Quirrel. Then there was the piece of Riddle's soul in the diary, Barty Crouch (Sr.), Voldemort's soul bits, and of course Voldemort himself. The point I'm trying to make is that wasn't something that I had to deal with on a regular basis. Now as an 'official' Grim Reaper I'll be charged with a soul a day--sometimes more. My area of expertise: magical external influences; i.e. deaths caused by magical accidents, suicides, and murders.

Now, back to Bert. As I said he's my boss. I actually first met him that night at Godric's Hollow. He's been a Reaper for quite some time--I'm not really sure on the specifics. He looks to be about in his late forties or fifties but Grim Reapers don't age so it's hard to tell by that. He has dark grey hair that's balding on the top, a pudgy middle, and his height is a bit shorter than average. He usually wears his robes open with muggle clothes on underneath. He has an American accent and calls me 'kid' a lot. He's in charge of giving out assignments.

Every day Bert gets a list of who's going to die that day. He transfers the name, place, and E.T.D. (estimated time of death) onto bits of parchment and hands them out to the Reapers.

There are three other Reapers in our little group: Manila, Sullivan and Curtis. (Manila and Sullivan tend to treat me a bit like a younger brother, which comes from my essentially growing up around them. Curtis tends to treat me like an annoying drunk that sits beside you at a bar and that just won't leave you alone...or more accurately like a bit of dung that he can't quite get scraped off his shoe.)

We meet at a quaint little wizard's pub every morning: The Witch's Brew. I'm actually a bit a nervous about today's meeting. After all, it is my first "real" day on the job. As a result, I arrive a bit early and find only Sullivan and Curtis there. Curtis is the one using a cleaning charm on his seat and Sullivan is the one snickering at him.

Sullivan is 5'7, has long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, has brown eyes, always looks a bit dishevelled, and who quite honestly can be a bit much at times. He alternates between being really hyper and really sluggish. Today's one of his hyper days.

"So, no more famous, huh?" he greets me as I sit down, reaching over to fondly mess up my hair.

I move my head out of his way as my hair was messed up enough on its own.

"Oooh! Got an idea!" (Sullivan is forever having "brilliant" ideas.)

He moves his hands as if reading off a title--"'Talk to the ghost of Harry Potter--only 2 Galleons'...people'd go crazy for it! And the kicker is...it really is you, in't?! Only they wouldn't know that! Would be brilliant, it would!" He grins.

"Uh, I don't really think..." I try to discourage him. (I'm never really sure whether or not his ideas are to be taken seriously.)

Curtis of course buts in with: "Don't be absurd. it's completely against the rules," he then turns to me:"...not that YOU would know..."

Curtis is by far the tallest of the lot of us at an even 6 foot. He has short -cropped blond hair, blue eyes, wears only traditional black robes, and...well, is a bit like Percy Weasley. Only worse. Curtis is a real stickler for the rules. Manila and Sullivan may get on his nerves but it's me that really has his knickers in a twist. I hadn't become a Reaper in the manner that I was supposed to. I didn't behave the way a Reaper should. I INTERACTED with the living! I made FRIENDS with the living! I carried on like I was still living! I AGED! If he wasn't already dead I'd be afraid for his health. I'm hoping that now that I'm a 'proper' Reaper he would have calmed down a bit.

"...We're not to interact with the living--especially not to those who knew us in life!" Curtis continued, in a tone that suggested the rest of us had the combined IQ of a flobberworm and he didn't know why he kept having to repeat to us such simple concepts and why couldn't we just be more like him or at least stop bothering him with such stupid ideas. It was a tone that understandably had taken him much practice to properly achieve.

"But they really didn't know him did they?" Sullivan counters, completely unfazed by Curtis being...well, Curtis.

Thankfully (At least for me anyway.), Manila entered at that moment. Curtis let out a long suffering groan as if he couldn't believe that he was going to have to endure yet another person with the brains of a flobberworm--and a flobberworm that had been in the firewiskey and doused with a cheering charm at that.

"Got you a prezzy!" she beams as she hands me...a coin?

Manila has short curly brown hair, brown eyes, is 5'2, usually dresses in brightly coloured robes (today they happen to be a neon pink), giggles constantly and has a very odd sense of humour. One time she came in with a bit of ribbon, waved it in my face, opened her mouth to say something--presumable about the ribbon but with her you can never be sure, and laughed hysterically for over 30 minutes. Then she cut off suddenly, sighed, and sipped at her butterbeer calm as you please. Completely mental that one.

"Umm...thanks," I reply as I eye the silver coin.

Manila looks at me expectantly. "It's a Sickle," she states giggling.

Oh, of course. That explains everything. Completely confused by what possible significance the coin holds for her, I reply with an ever intelligent: "Huh?"

Thankfully, Bert chose that time to enter and hand out our assignments.

Nervously, I unroll mine:

R. L. Huckaferd  
Clovis's Creature Cottage  
E.T.D. 9:32 A.M.

I make it to Clovis's Creature Cottage with ten minutes to spare. It's a pet shop that specializes in exotic animals. A bell chimes as I walk in and the few people inside barely glance my way.

I suppose I should explain that the living see us differently. I appear to have greasy brownish hair, nondescript brown eyes, and a face that wouldn't be winning any contests. At least I don't have to worry about anyone gawking at the famous Harry Potter. New name too: Archibald. Needless to say, I was not consulted on the name.

As I walk around the shop I become a bit nervous for poor R. L. Huckaferd. Most all the animals in the shop have big teeth and sharp claws and don't appear at all friendly. I couldn't help wondering how poor R.L. kicks the bucket.

Would he be attacked by the clabberts who were banging against the walls of their not-sturdy-enough-looking cage? Would he be hit by one of the large bags of feed perched haphazardly on the shelves? Would he slip on the hippogriff droppings and collide headlong into the wall?

And just who was R. L. Huckaferd? Was it the witch looking at the nifflers? Was it the store worker perched on the sliding ladder? Was it the wizard studying the blast-ended skrewts? He hoped it wasn't the boy poking at the fwoopers...

At 9:31 a wizard in brown robes walked into the shop.

"Ah! Mr. Huckaferd, I have your order in the back," the clerk said and then headed to the storeroom.

And we have a winner. I walk over and casually brush my hand against him under the guise of studying the care and feeding manuals. (It's common courtesy for those in our division to take the soul before time of death. Less traumatic that way.)

Suddenly, a loud BANG! sounded throughout the shop as three clabberts erupted out of their cage causing the room to descend into pure chaos. People were running to get out of the way as the clabberts, screeching loudly the whole time, ran about climbing shelves and hurtling various objects as store clerks tried to round them up. The little buggers seem very apt at dodging spells.

One of the clabberts got a hold of the shop ladder and was riding it full speed down the length of the shop--sending whole shelves' worth of items soaring. One of the objects was a largish hippogriff brush with rather sharp bristles that flew straight at--and through Mr. R. L. Huckaferd.

Wincing, I made my way through the chaos towards him. He was standing dazed looking down at his body.

"I don't...how?...wha...?"

"Come on, Mr. Huckaferd, it's time to move on," I tell him as I touch his shoulder.

He turns to me and his eyes widen in astonishment.

"Merlin's Beard! you're Harry Potter!"

"Yes, and you're dead," I felt the need to point out.

"I've just got killed by Harry Potter!" He said reverently.

"I didn't kill you I just took your soul," I explained as I led him away.

"Merlin, I just got my soul took by Harry Potter!"

Sigh. It's going to be a loooong afterlife.  
----------  
Should I continue with this?  
Questions? Comments?  
Any and all feedback appreciated!  
(If you include your email in your review, I'll reply back.)


	3. Learn to Be Lonely

Chapter 3: Learn to Be Lonely

"_You've always known, your heart was on its own,  
So laugh in your loneliness, child of the wilderness,  
Learn to be lonely,  
Learn how to love a life that is lived alone."  
_--Learn to be Lonely, by Andrew Lloyd Webber (from Phantom of the Opera)

Going into the final battle I knew what was to happen. I knew that I would be killed. I knew that I would become a Grim Reaper. I had prepared. I had distanced myself from my friends (or tried to anyhow). I had stashed away money from my vault along with a few keepsakes that I couldn't bear to part with. (Yes, I realize I wasn't supposed to keep anything from my 'old life' but I don't really give a flying flip.) Anyway, my point is: I had prepared myself for putting my past life behind me...or thought I had.

The reality as it turns out is a bit different. Staring up at the ceiling in a rented room surrounded by nothing but silence I had not prepared for. It wasn't just that I was bored (though that was a part of it) it was that there was no one else there. No one to chat or play Exploding Snap with. No one to sit or grab a bite to eat with. No one to break the silence. Even at the Dursley's I could at least always be sure to hear them.

And as much as I hated being Harry Potter I find that I actually miss it. Now I'm but an anonymous face in the crowd. No one cares what I do or where I go. No one calls out a friendly greeting or even glances my way- -invisible without the use of an invisibility cloak.

No Ron. No Hermione. No Ginny or Luna or Neville. Not even a Dark Lord out to kill me. (I never thought that I would miss him but oddly enough, it actually feels as if a part of me is missing without him in my head.)

There are no classes to attend. No Quidditch to practice. No prophecies to worry about. No Horcruxes to find. No battle to prepare for. No evil plot to foil...

In short, I have nothing to do and no one to do it with. And all eternity before me.

-  
"Guess what today is?" Manila asked in a sing-song voice, turning to me.

"I haven't the foggiest," I answer as I half-heartedly pick at my breakfast.

(Manila loves to inform us of holidays that I never knew existed and which very possibly don't. For all I knew it was 'Sing to Your Kneezle Day', though I haven't a kneezle so perhaps not.)

"Come on guess, it's something that's sure to cheer you up!"

Merlin, I hope they haven't declared a 'Harry Potter Day'. As if this day could be any more depressing.

"Today's your funeral, mate," Sullivan informed me with a grin.

There was something I hadn't thought to guess. And I stand corrected: this day can get more depressing after all. I looked at their two grinning faces in disbelief. How is the knowledge that my own funeral is today supposed to cheer me up? That settles it--they're both completely mental.

"Let's go," Manila said with a giggle. "It'll be fun!"

Fun? I stand by my decision: they're both nutters.

"He can't go to his own funeral!" Curtis said with disgust. "He'll end up doing something idiotic."

"Hey!"

"He can go," Bert interrupts as he slides into the booth. "You've got the day off kid...don't expect that to happen very often," he added.

Manila squeals in delight. I'm still debating on what my reaction to that news should be. Did I even really want to go?

I finally settle on: "Er...thanks...?"

"Not so fast, kid." Bert continues, pointing his finger at me, "there are conditions. Number one: no interacting with anyone. Number two: stay away from your friends...it'll be less tempting that way. Number three: don't draw attention to yourself. Number four: take someone with you so you don't do anything stupid. And remember you're Archibald now--Harry Potter is dead and gone, so be careful what you do and say. You go in there being Harry Potter and you'll just freak people out and they won't believe you anyway." He pauses and gives me an intense look. "There are dire consequences for revealing yourself to the living, kid, so don't even think about it."

"You can't seriously let him go!" Curtis interrupted in a scandalised tone.

"You went to yours didn't you?" Bert pointed out.

"Yes, well, I wasn't corporal at the time--he is!" Curtis then continued, "you know he'll end up doing something stupid."

"Hey!"

"Sullivan will go with him," Bert stated.

"Oh! Me too! Me too!" Manila pleaded, waving her hand.

"You too," Bert conceded with a sigh.

I knew he was thinking he was going to regret this. I was thinking I was going to regret this...

"Well, I for one am not going," Curtis sniffed snidely.  
--

Walking into my own funeral was...surreal...and odd. Very very odd. There were many people that I knew there and a lot more that I didn't. But none of them recognized me. It was bizarre. Especially so because I had gotten accustomed to people staring at me and gawking at my scar. Now none of them give me a second glance...not even my friends. (I had half expected someone to take one look at me, scream, and announce that Harry Potter was back from the dead. At least it would have livened things up a bit--no pun intended.)

The funeral was being held at Hogwarts and all the school banners had been turned black. There were a lot of candles and flowers scattered about. There were also an awful lot of enlarged photos of me--many of which I suspected had been taken by the Creevey brothers. I winced as I spotted the aforementioned brothers clinging to each other and sobbing at the front of the room wearing...'Harry Potter Remembrance' t-shirts? Merlin, maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. Already my face was burning.

A noise drew my attention to a corner where I discovered a wailing Dobby the houseelf (also wearing a Rememberance t-shirt as well as what appeared to be every sock I had ever given him) settng up some sort of shrine. I quickly decided that I'd just see how my friends were and then leave. As I scanned the crowd I couldn't help overhearing a nearby conversation.

"Oh yes, Harry and I were very close. In fact we once dated."

Was that...Cho?

"He was heartbroken when I broke it off..."

I was not!

"...said that he understood. After all, because of his connection with You -Know-Who he was..."

"Hey, I never said that!" I muttered in indignation.

"Suuuure you didn't, mate," Sullivan said patting my shoulder in sympathy.

"I never said that!"

"Uh huh..." He cut off abruptly as he stared at something behind me. "Well, that's a bit garish isn't it?" he asked in horror.

I don't even want to know...

I never did find out what it was as just then something else caught my attention.

Ron and Hermione, neither one of them looking at all well, were standing off to the side...away from the crowd. I knew that Hermione had recently been released from St. Mungo's--against Healer's orders. She had been severely injured during the final battle and likely would never fully recover. The scar on her cheek and the way that she leaned heavily on Ron were the only outward signs of her injuries. But I had read the papers...

And Ron...Ron was missing a leg and now had one like Moody's. (Though Moody himself hadn't survived the battle...) They had managed to reattach the two fingers Ron had lost on his wand hand, but had been unable to locate a large chunk of his left ear. He now held on to Hermione as she cried, a stricken look on his face.

Neither one would ever be the same again and it was all my fault... It was a miracle that either one had survived the battle at all. Many others hadn't. If only I had been more insistent that they not come. If only I had gone there on my own, or had thought of another way to end it all. But I hadn't. And now they were the ones who would have to live with the consequences of my actions.

"I recommend a bracelet of butterbeer caps," a voice said, interrupting my thoughts.

"What?"

"For the Heeliwinks. I always find that a bracelet of butterbeer caps works wonders. ...but perhaps it's not Heeliwinks at all and it's actually Gravlelumps. For that a Sickle in your shoe usually does the trick."

I blinked to find Luna Lovegood standing in front of me.

"It just so happens that I gave him a Sickle just recently. Though it was for a different purpose entirely," Manila informed her with a giggle.

As I unsuccessfully tried to wrap my mind around the concept of Luna and Manila together, my attention was drawn to the front of the room by someone attempting to cast a sonorus spell. Wincing at the loud noise as they tried to properly adjust the spell; I realized just who it was that was up there: the Creevey brothers. Bugger, I don't think I even want to know what those two are doing.

"And now a poem: Ode to Our Hero Harry Potter by Dennis and Colin Creevey."

"Oh no no no no!" I groaned with a horrified expression.

I was right: I really didn't want to know. But as I turned back to speak with Luna I found that she and Manila were deep in conversation about... Well, I'm not really sure what it was exactly they were discussing, though both were fully absorbed in it. And so I reluctantly found my attention drawn back to the front of the room.

"Harry Potter the brave Gryffindor,  
whose name shall ever be spoken in lore..."

The poem seemed to go on for an overly long time and just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any more horrible, it did. But finally, finally, it was over. Looking around I decided that I had had enough. I don't think I could have stayed any longer without doing something. My friends all looked terribly upset (expect for Luna, she was still deep in conversation with Manila) as did most everyone else in the room. They were grieving for me but I was still there...and they would never know. I quickly found Sullivan and dragged Manila away from Luna and headed out the door. No one even noticed when I left.

"I sorta liked when they rhymed 'potter' with 'otter'," Sullivan commented as we walked out the gates. "Now...how did it go again?" He struck a theatrical pose and recited in a dramatic voice "'All adore the great Harry Potter from slimy floberworm to brown sea otter'..."

I groaned as the Creevey brothers had seemed to be overly fond of saying my name. In the poem they had also managed to rhyme it with 'plotter', 'thought her', and embarrassingly enough-- 'hotter'.

"Oh oh how about when they rhymed 'heart' with 'treacle tart'!" snickered Manila. "That was my personal favourite!"

"Ha ha very funny," I said as we parted ways.

Apparating away I gave a sigh of relief as--contrary to what Curtis had thought--I hadn't managed to do anything stupid. But walking into my dark and empty room I felt a loneliness more keenly then ever before. Sullivan and Manila were great...but they weren't friends...not really. My real friends were back there mourning a life I had left behind. Tears pricked my eyes as I lay there in the dark--not bothering to turn on a light. It had been so hard to see them all today; Ron and Hermione especially...

I was never to speak to them again and if I saw them at all it would be mere glimpses in places such as Diagon Alley. Harry Potter was dead and gone and buried today. My friends had mourned and would go on with their lives. Lives that I could never be a part of. I never thought I'd miss the life of 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'...

There would be no more fame or newspaper headlines (good or bad) or Dursleys or manic evil wizards out to get me. But too there would be no more Hogwarts or Quidditch or the friends that I had made.

No more sneaking out under the cover of an invisibility cloak. No more late night researching sessions. No more WWW testing parties. No more Hermione making sure that I studied and got enough sleep. No more Ron challenging me to chess games and Quidditch discussions...

Seeing them today had been harder than I had expected. Perhaps the stupid thing had been going to the funeral at all... But no, I had needed to go. To see my friends one last time. To say goodbye...not only to them but to my old life as well. As I said: Harry Potter is dead and gone and buried today...and I would miss him.

---  
Feedback is always appreciated, please review.


	4. Road to Success

Chapter 4: Road To Success 

_"My road to success is under construction."--unknown_

For some reason I thought that I would feel different the day after. More at peace or something. Isn't that what funerals are for? To help accept the death and move on with your life...or afterlife...or whatever? Instead I'm feeling a bit depressed actually.

I sigh as I glance at the clock. It's time to meet the others. To get my assignment and help someone else move on. While I'm stuck here. Until I meet some unspecified quota. No moving on for me.

Curtis and Sullivan were already there when I arrived. Though I might as well have been there by myself. Curtis glared briefly in my direction then promptly ignored me. And Sullivan had his head propped on his hand and looked half asleep. I don't think he even knew that I was there.

After a few very long minutes of silence, Manila showed up.

"Hello! I wish you all a happy 'Count your Nifflers Day'," she beamed at us as she sat her day-glo orange clad self down.

"I keep telling you; you're going to draw attention to yourself dressed like that," Curtis informed her from behind his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Well, I certainly hope so!" she exclaimed.

(Somehow I don't think that was quite the response he had been going for.)

Curtis opened his mouth to retort but Sullivan chose that moment to fall asleep face first into his breakfast, splattering porridge on both Curtis's Daily Prophet and Curtis himself.

Curtis's eyes widened as he rose in outrage. However he did not get a chance to rain down any scathing insults as Bert (who always did have impeccable timing) chose that moment to sit down and hand out assignments.

In a flurry of activity Manila, Curtis, and Bert himself quickly departed as they all had early assignments.

My assignment wasn't for another couple of hours and thankfully for Sullivan, neither was his. I prodded Sullivan, who was still asleep in his breakfast, but he didn't budge. I didn't see much point in staying (what with Sullivan snoring and all), so I decided to head back to my rented room.

The door was not only unlocked but also opened when I got there and I stood in the doorway gaping like an idiot: I had been robbed. I couldn't believe it. I had to step outside and glance at the number on the door to make sure that I had the right room. I even shut the door, walked away, came back, and closed my eyes and held my breath as I opened the door. (What I thought this could possibly accomplish I don't know...but it seemed like a good idea at the time.) But alas, when I opened my eyes nothing had changed.

Who the bloody heck would rob a Grim Reaper?? Ok...granted they probably didn't know that I was a Grim Reaper, but it was the principle of the thing. It just wasn't right. It was also a bit embarrassing. Alright, more than a bit.

Not to mention frustrating. It's not like I could report the thieves or anything. Or go to my vault to get more money out. Can you imagine if I waltzed into Gringotts and asked to be shown to the Potter vault? I don't think goblins let dead people make withdrawals.

At least they just stole my money. It could have been worse--they could have stolen... No! No, no, no. The more I searched the worse I felt. They took it. They took it all. Everything that I had saved. Everything that I had carefully hidden. Everything from my life as Harry Potter.

There hadn't been much that I had been able to save in the first place and now it was all gone. Even things that couldn't have possibly held any meaning to the thieves. Why would they steal a bit of broken mirror? My eyes filled as I collapsed on the bed. Photos and mementos. My only link to those that I had lost. All of it gone. I don't care that I shouldn't have kept it in the first place. It had been mine.

I don't know how long I spent after that laid out on the bed staring at the ceiling, but before I knew it it was time for my assignment.

It didn't take long for me to find him and even less time for death to find him.  
With an annoyed sigh, I watched as his eyes widened in recognition.

"I'm not really in the mood for this at the moment...was just robbed you see. So...yes, I am Harry Potter, yes, I am dead--and so are you. Cross over."

The man opened his mouth, "..."

"Uh uh," I cut him off, "find the pretty lights and follow them."

"But..."

"Now."

Thankfully, he took my advice and I was able to spend the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity.

The following morning I woke up and went to the Witch's Brew intent on sharing yesterday's sorrows with the rest of the group.  
They were decidedly unsympathetic though full of advice.

"Well tit for tat I always say," Sullivan informed me with a grin.

"But I don't know who robbed me," I told him, puzzled.

"Doesn't matter does it? You rob somebody else and then they rob somebody else and then the cycle continues."

"That is the most idiotic piece of advice I have ever heard!" Curtis interjected from behind his seemingly ever present Daily Prophet.

"I don't really feel comfortable robbing someone," I told Sullivan.

"Well, how about the dead? On your next assignment take a few souvenirs--no one'll notice."

"Isn't that a little amoral--robbing the dead?"

"Why? They're not gonna use it. Besides, all the reapers do it."

"Not all," Curtis mumbled, as he folded his paper.

"Look the way I see it we collect their souls right? So what's wrong with a bit o' compensation for a job well done, eh?"

Manila raised her hand. "I've done it," she informed me.

"I don't know..."

"Why don't you just get a real job," Curtis bit out as he literally threw his paper at me and left.

As I scanned the classifieds I thought that for once, Curtis seemed to actually have some good advice. Not that I'd ever tell him that.

The first job that caught my eye was the one for a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. However, I did have enough sense to know that would not be a good idea and kept looking. The next one that I noticed was one for a shop assistant. Shop assistant...I could do that.

"The first thing you will need to do is pickle the 3 barrels of newt eyes, then pluck the feathers off of those crows, then you will carefully dissect..." the dour faced shop owner informed me.

"I'm sorry," I interrupted, "but, I thought the ad said that you needed a 'shop assistant'?"

"Yes and the job of the shop assistant is to assist me in whatever I deem necessary," he told me as he glared down his nose at me.

It sounded a bit too much like a detention to me. I quickly crossed that job off of my list.

"I need someone to help me clean up my shop," said the thin and nervous owner of Frussett's Fantastic Finds.

"I had to abandon it, you see when..." he leaned in close and whispered, "You-Know-Who started destroying shops."

"You-Know-Who? You mean Voldemort?" I couldn't resist asking.

His eyes widened and I thought for a moment that he was going to faint.

"Don't say his name!" He glanced around as if he honestly expected Voldemort to pop out at him from around the corner.

"It's just a name," I pointed out.

"Just a...!" he shook his head as if he thought I was nutters.

"Yes, Voldemort..."

I didn't get to finish as he hastily pushed me out of his shop, locked the door, and closed the shutters. Well, that could have gone better.

After two more unsuccessful job attempts, I sat down and glanced dejectedly once again at the classifieds. On a whim I wrote sent an Owl about the Defence job to Hogwarts...and instantly regretted it. With new resolve I set out once again on my job search.

"Yeh just need to muck up after the animals."

I glanced at the one hundred plus animals--all of which were magical and all of which were quite large. The place had a smell about it that I just knew would linger on a person for days...perhaps even weeks. With a sigh I crossed the job off my list and moved on.

"Have you ever worked for the Ministry?"

"No..."

"You ever report anyone to the Ministry?"

"No."

"What do you know about the laws about owning and selling certain items?"

"Not much," I admitted.

"Are you squeamish?"

"Squeamish?" I asked, not sure I liked the direction the interview was taking.

"Can you stand the sight of blood? Does the sound of screaming bother you?"

"I...well...what kind of job is this anyway?" I asked suddenly uncomfortable.

"What kind of job do you think it is?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"The ad said...I thought this was a cleaning job," I admitted.

"Well, I suppose you could say that it is a 'cleaning job'."

I don't think I much cared for the smile on his face as he said this. I hastily told him that I didn't think that it was the job for me and left. Quickly.

By the end of the day I wasn't any closer to finding a job. As I dejectedly walked back to my room (that I would soon be kicked out of) an owl flew over. It was a letter from Hogwarts. The position had already been filled.

It was for the best I told myself. It would have never worked out. It had been a stupid idea to begin with. I wasn't fooling myself though. As much as I knew it wouldn't have worked and wouldn't have been the same even if it had...a part of me had really been hoping. After all, looking back at past Defence teachers it wasn't such a stretch to think that they would have let me teach. And I would have been able to go back to Hogwarts--a place I hadn't been since my sixth year. Which seemed so very far away now.

As I fell asleep that night I dreamt of Hogwarts--the one place that I had once thought of as home.

--  
Coming Soon: Chapter 5: More Than You Can Understand

"When I received my assignment it looked like any other. Just ink on parchment. Name, location, E.T.D. Mundane and routine. But this was a reap I wouldn't soon forget..."

---Please review!  
I'm not entirely happy with this chapter--but I decided to post it since it's been so long since I updated. Let me know what you think.  
(Note: So sorry for the long wait! Good news: I have parts of the next three chapters already written. Review and let me know I still have readers out there!)


	5. More Than You Can Understand

**Chapter 5: More Than You Can Understand**

_"Come away, oh human child,  
To the waters and the wild,  
With a faery hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping,  
Than you can understand." --The Stolen Child, William Butler Yeats._

The day started innocently enough. I arrived at the Witch's Brew, I chatted a bit with the others...I don't remember about what.

Then I got my assignment.

When I received my assignment it looked like any other. Just ink on parchment. Name, location, E.T.D. Mundane and routine. I barely glanced at it until Bert handed me something else as well.

"What's this?" I asked puzzled as I stared at the bundle of black fabric.

"You'll need to wear it for your reap." And with that cryptic remark, he left.

When I looked up I noticed that I was the only one left in the booth. I stood up and shook out the black fabric...and froze. It was a Death Eater robe. I quickly threw it on the table and sat back down. A hurried glance around assured me that no one had noticed. I passed a nervous hand through my hair and let out a shaky breath. Why had Bert given me a Death Eater robe?

My eyes stole to the parchment that contained my assignment. What had moments ago seemed so insignificant and routine now seemed ominous. And yet, my mind did not want to process it. I had gotten my assignment. Bert had given me a Death Eater robe. He had told me that I would need it for my reap. Why would I need a Death Eater robe for my reap? What did my assignment have to do with that bit of fabric that I didn't even want to touch?

I don't know why I assumed that all the Death Eaters were gone. I knew that some of them had escaped capture, but I thought that they were in hiding--that they weren't a threat to anyone anymore. Out of sight, out of mind...

After "The Final Battle" (as it is now being called), the Death Eaters that were found alive were rounded up and sent to a newly redesigned (and rebuilt) Azkaban Prison. A significant number had died during the battle and it was reasoned that a mere handful had escaped. Of course, no one knew for sure exactly how many Death Eaters there actually were. But it was assumed that they had all been there at the battle and that of course a small few had probably escaped capture--but with the Dark Lord gone there was really nothing to worry about from them.

And sure enough, The Daily Prophet reported no more disappearances, no more battles, no more mysterious deaths... And the wizarding world breathed a collective sigh of relief and slowly got back to their pre-war lives.

Of course, the Dementors seemed to have disappeared, but no one was much bothered by that. It was theorized that since Voldemort had had such a hold on them that they had simply ceased to exist when he died. Whether that was actually true or not, there hadn't been a single sighting since then.

With a shaky hand I slowly reached out and grabbed the cloak. Then I exited the pub without a backwards glance, my assignment clutched tightly in my fist.

By the time night had fallen I had calmed down. After all, why should I be upset about taking the soul of a Death Eater? In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought that this could actually turn out to be a bit funny.

I reached the area that was written on the parchment (a clearing in a dense and remote thicket) and quickly pulled up the cloak's hood. I gave a sardonic chuckle that now I looked like a 'real' reaper. All I needed was a sickle.

I mused that Death Eaters liked to play at being Death, but I was the real thing. Wouldn't they be shocked to discover that 'Death' wore the face of Harry Potter? I was almost looking forward to seeing the look on their face when I took their soul.

With a smirk I stood in the shadows at the edge of the gathering--waiting.

I shifted uneasily when I noticed that there was more than a 'handful' of Death Eaters present. But then the meeting started and a hooded Death Eater whose voice I didn't recognize took the lead. He spouted the basic Death Eater spiel. Blah blah blah 'pure blood supremacy'. Blah blah blah 'cleansing the wizarding world'. Blah blah blah 'mudbloods and blood traitors'...

And then it happened.

The leader gave a signal and the group parted, allowing two Death Eaters to move towards the centre of the group.

Merlin, no! The colour drained from my face and I was sure I would be sick. For between them was a little girl and I knew that it was her that I had come for.

She looked so small standing there. Her long brown hair was dishevelled, her brown eyes wide and fearful, her round face tearstained, her blue robes torn. She couldn't have been more than six or seven.

So young.

She would never get to buy her first wand or go to Hogwarts. Never graduate or get married. Never have a job or children of her own.

I wondered if anyone knew she was missing yet. Were her parents out searching for her...or were they already dead? Did she have any brothers or sisters or was she her parent's only child? Had she been at home or playing outside when she had been taken? Would her friends and family ever discover how she had died?

I wished that I could take her and run far away from this place...but I couldn't. It was against the rules. Her appointment had been set. Her name inked on the parchment. She had arrived on time. She was where she was supposed to be. And I was where I was supposed to be. No matter how much I didn't want to be.

If I didn't take her soul it would rot and decay. She would no longer be the innocent little girl she was and never could be again. I had to take her soul--I had no choice.

I wished that there was some mistake. That I was wrong and that it was one of the Death Eaters that I had come for. But there was no mistake. And there was not a thing that I could do except watch and wait.

A faked stumble allowed me to brush quickly against her thin arm as the three passed me. Then I stepped back into the shadows to wait.

I hoped for a quick death...but it dragged on for seemingly hours. I wished for it to be painless...but her screams and pleas rang in my ears. I wanted to shut my eyes...but I kept them open and focused on her. I longed to stop it...but I stood motionless.

Then finally, finally it was over.

Her body lay like a broken doll. So small. So still.

The rest of the group dispersed and I allowed the tears to course down my cheeks as I slowly lowered my hood.

I don't know why I had thought that evil had died with Voldemort.

"Why would they do that?" a small voice asked.

"I don't know," I whispered as I looked down at the child by my side. And I really didn't.

"What will happen now?"

"You'll go on."

"Go on where?"

"I don't really know...but it'll be nice," I reassured.

"Can you come with me?" she asked hopefully, as her small hand fitted into mine.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not allowed."

"You're Harry Potter aren't you?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Yeah." I gave her a shaky half-smile.

"I have your chocolate frog card."

"Is that so?" I inquired.

"Uh huh," she smiled up at me.

I squeezed her hand as I led her away from that awful clearing to a place where she would never feel pain or fear again.

* * *

Please review.

Coming soon:  
Chapter 6: If You Can't Convince, Confuse


	6. Should Have Been More Specific

_A/N: I'm not really happy with this chapter, but am posting it anyway.  
(It's been sitting on my computer for weeks and if I don't post it now it'll probably never get posted, but I know I could do better. Oh where oh where has my muse gone!)_

**Chapter 6: Should Have Been More Specific**

_"All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific". Jane Wagner_

I stared at the parchment in front of me, but it didn't change.

Mr. Archibald Dering,

Due to unforeseeable circumstances, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardly currently finds itself in need of a professor. Because you have expressed interest in this post recently, we are contacting you in regards to an interview. If you are still interested in this position please reply by Owl as soon as possible.

Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Headmistress Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

They were offering me a job. At Hogwarts. At a place that had a significant connection to my life as Harry Potter. If Bert ever found out that I had even considered...

I should never have applied. I knew that just like I knew that I should have taken this letter and thrown it away. But I just couldn't bring myself to do that. I just kept wondering what if...

I knew that I shouldn't. I knew that it would be a very bad idea. I knew that there had to be rules against this sort of thing. And even if there weren't, Bert would not be happy. And Curtis would have an absolute fit...

But Hogwarts. Merlin, I missed Hogwarts. It seemed as if I'd been away forever. And I've taught Defence before. Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts couldn't be too different from teaching the D.A...

But I really shouldn't. Really, really shouldn't.

...So why was my hand writing out a reply? And tying it to the owl? And letting it out the window?

Bert is going to kill me. He told me that there are dire consequences for revealing ourselves to the living. While I have no intentions of doing so at the moment...could I resist the temptation later on? Working and living in a place that I considered home would I be able to hide my familiarity? Would I be able to resist revealing myself to those I have known? Would I be able to distance myself from the living?

...On the other hand, when have I ever let a bit of danger get in my way?

I'll just have to make sure that Bert doesn't ever find out. Besides it is just an interview. I wasn't guaranteed the job. Though they did sound a bit desperate. Still I might not get it. After all, it's not as if I could put 'fought and destroyed Lord Voldemort' on my resume...

Shit, I don't have a resume. Bloody hell, I don't have my N.E.W.T.S. or even my O.W.L.S.!

Fortunately, I knew just who to see about that...

"Sullivan! My best mate!" I greeted flashing what I hoped was my most charming smile.

"What do you want?" he asked eyeing me suspiciously.

Clearly I hadn't fooled him a bit.

After a quick glance around, I whispered to him, "How are you at forging?"

"Forging? What?!...I...," he narrowed his eyes. "Who have you talked to, what have you heard?"

I'm not even going to ask.

"Relax, Sol, I need your...expertise," I assured him.

His face immediately broke out into a wide grin, "Aww! My little Harry is all grown up and forging papers! Does my heart proud it does."

"I'm not forging papers...I wouldn't even know how to begin to forge papers...I'm asking if you can forge some for me."

"What's in it for me then?"

"My everlasting gratitude and friendship?" I asked hopefully.

He simply raised an eyebrow at me.

I hadn't thought that would work.

"Fine...I'll owe you a favour then," I said begrudgingly. I just knew I was going to regret that later.

"A favour, eh? That holds some promise that does," he informed me with a speculative gleam in his eye. "I'll be sure to collect on that one I will--and don't you be forgettin' it."

"I won't." This had better be worth it.

"Now...what d'you need them for?" Sullivan questioned, getting down to business.

"Well...I'm applying for this job..."

"Yeah?"

I took at deep breath.

"At Hogwarts."

"What! Are ya daft?"

"I know I probably shouldn't...and well there's no guarantee that I'll actually get the job anyway...but..."

Sullivan cut me off, "This is a very bad idea."

Coming from Sullivan, that was saying something.

"Please Sol...remember I'll owe you favour?"

He studied me for a moment and then relented. "Alright, alright, but when Bert finds out..."

"He won't find out."

"He'll find out...and when he does I had no part in this--understand?"

"You aren't going to tell him are you?"

"No--but mark my words he will find out."

The next day I was running a bit late to my assignment and stopped to catch my breath as I skidded to a stop in front of the storefront.  
Looking up, I blinked startled as I spotted a graveling.

(Grim Reapers collect the souls but gravelings are the ones that cause the accidents. They're invisible to the living and even Muggle Reapers can only see them out of the corner of their eye. Magical Reapers can see them though and this was my first encounter with one.) Creepy little creatures they were.

Not far from the graveling was a girl of about fourteen years of age. She had long blond hair, wore a light pink robe, and wasn't paying a wit of attention to her surroundings. She was unmistakably the one that I had come for.

The graveling briefly turned its beady red eyes on me before it swiftly darted away. I shivered, but collected the girl's soul--and none too soon-- as it was mere seconds afterward that the sign fell--crushing and killing her instantly. Thoughts of the graveling fled as the girl caught sight of me.

Did she just...'squee'?!

"Merlin! You're Harry Potter! THE Harry Potter!" She screamed with wide eyes.

"Yes, and you've just died, so..." I informed her uncomfortably.

"I can't believe I'm talking to Harry Potter!"

"Yes, we've already established that...now do you see any pretty lights?"

"I'm Lisa...Lisa Tugwood...and I'm your biggest fan! Merlin, I'm in heaven! I must be in heaven!"

"Not yet you're not. If you would just look for the lights..." I said, looking around desperately. Her screeching was really starting to hurt my ears.

"Are you coming with me?" she asked excitedly as she latched onto my arm.

"No, Get off," I squirmed out of her grip and reclaimed my personal space. I was very fond of my personal space and didn't take kindly to her intruding upon it. At least she seemed a bit calmer now...well; her volume had come down at least.

"Why not?" She pouted, taking a step back towards me.

"Can't," I replied, taking two steps back.

"Why?" And there she was invading my personal space again.

"Because I'm a Grim Reaper. I stay here. You cross over. Now about those lights..."

Where were those damn lights?!

"Well, I'll just stay here with you then," she informed me, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You can't," I ground out.

"Why not?" She demanded stomping her foot.

"You're not a Grim Reaper." Thank Merlin for that.

"Can't you make me one?" she asked, batting her eyelashes hopefully.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't work that way--you need to cross over." Those lights had to be around here somewhere.

"Well, I'm not leaving. It's my afterlife and I want to spend it with you."

Deciding just to ignore her for the moment, I made my way back to my room...only to find the door locked and an eviction notice posted. This day just kept getting better and better.

"Evicted? But they can't do that--you're Harry Potter!"

"Not anymore I'm not--after all, I did die and all," I replied after discovering that no, staring did not make the notice disappear and the door magically open.

"About that...why are you all solid and I'm not?"

"Once again: I'm a Grim Reaper and you're a spirit that Needs. To. Cross. Over."

"But I want to stay with you! I am your biggest fan and heaven would just not be complete without you. I know you don't believe me but I really _am_ your biggest fan. I have every book ever written about you including your unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter _and_ I own the entire collection of Witch Weeklys that feature you on the cover. I even started a petition to have them erect a memorial to you..."

I grit my teeth and tried to ignore her as I turned around and headed towards the Witch's Brew hoping desperately that Bert was there. He had to know how to get her to move on. I don't think I could take much more of this.

Ten minutes later as I stepped into the pub, she was still going at it.

"...and I have all the lyrics to the songs 'The Boy-Who-Lived to Steal My Heart' and 'Love Me H.P.' memorized...would you like me to sing them for you?"

"Bert!" I called out in relief as I spotted him and hurried over.

"She won't stop Bert...and she won't cross over...please make her cross over," I pleaded in desperation. "I'm actually finding myself wondering where I might find a dementor to point at her..."

Bert just looked amused and turned to the girl, "What's your name sweetheart?"

"Lisa, Lisa Tugwood," she informed him with a smile. "I'm Harry's biggest fan."

"That's nice--really. But don't you want to cross over, Lisa? See you're deceased family members and all that?"

Lisa shook her head. "I want to stay with Harry." She turned love struck eyes on me.

Bert patted me on the shoulder. "Well, she's your problem kid--good luck." Then he had the nerve to leave.

After discovering that banging my head repeatedly on the table did not unfortunately render me unconscious, I glanced at my watch and noticed that if I didn't hurry I would be late for my interview. I did need to make one quick stop first.

"Who's the bird?" Sullivan leered.

"Gahh! Get your mind out of the gutter--she's younger than I am!"

"I'm Lisa...Harry's soulmate," she said smiling up at him.

Soulmate?! When did she make the leap from 'biggest fan' to soulmate?!

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance m'lady," Sullivan greeted with a bow. "Hope you'll invite me to the wedding," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

Lisa giggled.

"Look--do you have the papers or not," I asked in exasperation.

"Here ya go."

"Thanks...how would you like to baby-sit ghostgirl for me?"

After all, he did seem to like her...

"Not a chance mate...now you'd better hurry or you'll miss your interview."

Shit.

"And good luck with the missus!" he called after me with a chuckle.

Taking a deep breath I stared at the door in front of me.

"So are we going in or what?"

"WE are going nowhere. I am going in and YOU are staying here," I hissed at her out of the corner of my mouth. Well, not literally hissed, as I doubt that parseltongue would have helped the situation.

"Fine," she pouted.

"Feel free to cross over while I'm gone," I mumbled as I walked through the door...and came face-to-face with McGonagall.

I realized that I was openly staring and quickly averted my eyes.

"Greetings, Mr...?"

Why was she asking me my name? She knew very well that I was... Dead. I opened my mouth and promptly shut it. I had nearly forgotten. I wasn't Mr. Potter anymore. I was Mr...What name did I put on my application? Oh Merlin, I couldn't remember. What had made me think that this was a good idea?!

"Call me Ha-Archibald," I said thinking quickly.

I had nearly panicked there. I willed myself to calm down as I wiped my sweaty palms on my robes.

"Hmmm," was all she had to say to that as I handed my papers over and she looked them over. "'Mr. Archibald Ohanzee Dering' it says here that you are...37?"

"Umm...yeah, I'm 37." Damn Sullivan!

She gave me a disbelieving look but continued, "...and that you graduated from 'Sullivan's School of Craft'? I don't think I've ever heard of that school, Mr. Dering."

"Yes...It was a very...small school."

I was suddenly very curious as to what exactly Sullivan had put on my papers. I should have checked them first...but that girl...

Just then I heard an excited squeal and I froze. As if this interview couldn't get any worse.

"I didn't know that I could walk through walls!"

I resisted the urge to remind her that she was to have waited outside. I also bit back the sarcastic remark that of course she could walk through walls--she was one step away from being a bloody ghost! But I remained silent. After all, it wouldn't do to be seen talking to myself.

"Have you had any teaching experience?" McGonagall continued unaware of our current guest.

"Yes, I taught a...study group on the subject at my old school."

I steadfastly ignored the girl that was currently examining the headmistress's office with fascination.

"Can she see me?"

Obviously not. I subtly shook my head.

She then proceeded to wave her hand in front of McGonagall's face.

"This is just weird this is. I don't think that I've ever been this close to one of my professors before," she said studying the figure before her, "Did you know that her hair's gone nearly completely grey? You think she would colour it or something. And those robes are positively hideous! And you would think that as headmistress her office would be bigger...and much better decorated than this!"

"...the previous professor. However..."

"Merlin! Why are there all these portraits of old wizards--sleeping ones at that? Is that Professor Dumbledore?!" She went over to examine the portraits more closely.

With a jolt I realized that McGonagall had been talking to me and I quickly tuned in enough to catch the last part.

"...but of course you are more than welcome to adjust the curriculum as you see fit. Now, exactly how knowledgeable are you on the subject?"

"Uh, yes...I'm very knowledgeable--got top marks in it in fact."

"I certainly hope so. Our last applicant backed out at the last moment. And for better or worse you are our only option for the position," she made no qualms about informing me.

Standing up she held out her hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Dering, you're our new History of Magic professor. Term starts in two days," she informed me wryly with a grin.

With a smile I quickly stood up and shook hands. Halfway through her words sunk in. History of Magic?! Frantically I tried to remember the ad that I had seen and realized with horror that neither the advertisement nor the letter had mentioned what teaching position it was advertising for. I had just assumed that it was DADA. After all, DADA was always the only position open. What had I just gotten myself into?

Two hours later I found myself bargaining with Lisa. After all, there was no way I was spending another day in her company.

"A handshake," I offered.

"How's about a shag?" She countered, leering.

"No...just...no...A pat on the back?"

"A passionate snog."

"A hug?" I asked, a bit desperately.

"Some serious groping."

"A peck on the cheek?"

"Full on the lips--with tongue."

"Kiss on the lips--no tongue--final offer."

She eyed me speculatively.

"Deal."

Thank Merlin.

**Any and all feedback appreciated--please review.**


	7. Stupidity

**Chapter 7: Stupidity**

_"Stupidity Got Us Into This Mess. Why Can't It Get Us Out?"_

I'd like to say that my first day of teaching went remarkably well. I'd like to say that teaching came naturally and easily. I'd like to say that--but in case you hadn't noticed, I have rotten luck.

Of course I had procrastinated until the last moment. ...Not that I had that much time to begin with. And it hadn't really dawned on me that I would need to make some type of lesson plans. (I didn't realize that until someone brought up lesson plans at the Welcoming Feast...which then caused me to panic, run out of the Great Hall, and frantically try to think of something. At which point I wished that there was something that could help me. Like a book on the History of Magic. Then I wished that there was somewhere where I could borrow said book for a bit...somewhere like a library. A magical library. ...And then I remembered that Hogwarts had a library full of magical books and I felt like a right idiot.)

I spent most of the night taking notes. Then I spent the rest of the night sleeping on said notes. (That book must have been written by a relative of Binn's it was so boring.)

The next morning I woke up with a piece of parchment stuck to my face. A glance at the clock told me that I was running late. I quickly changed clothes, ran a comb through my hair, and dashed out the door. Then I realized that I forgot my notes, ran back inside, grabbed my notes...and managed to spill half a bottle of ink on the lot them.

I stared in uncomprehending horror. All that work ruined. And my first class started in five minutes.

Think Harry think. History of Magic, History of Magic... Goblin rebellions. there had been a lot of those. There had to have been as that was what Binns always droned on about. Funny how I couldn't remember a single thing about a one of them...aside from the fact that they involved goblins rebelling against one thing or another...

At least my first class was first years. That couldn't be too hard. I was sure I would think of something.

I have to say, having a class full of little firsties gazing up at me was a bit daunting. Especially considering I hadn't a clue what I was doing. Standing at the front of a classroom was a lot different then being a student.

When they started fidgeting I realized that I should probably say something rather than just standing there staring at them.

"Umm...hello, class, my name is Professor Daling."

See this couldn't be too hard. Introduce myself. Take roll. That should take up at least--

A dark-haired Ravenclaw sitting in the first row tentatively raised her hand, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I thought it was 'Dering', sir?" she asked scrunching up her face in confusion.

"What?"

"The Headmistress introduced you as Professor Dering, sir," she clarified.

"And...?" I could not believe I had messed up my own name. Leave it to a Ravenclaw to be able to point it out too.

"And you just said your name was Professor Daling, sir."

"No I didn't," I denied. Maybe I could bluff my way out of this.

"Yes, you did sir," she replied, her voice showing disbelief that I had even tried to deny it.

"No, I clearly said 'Dering', you must have misheard," I insisted. Why wouldn't she just let it go?

"I'm sorry sir...but I'm sure that I heard you say..."

A distraction. I needed a distraction. Dung bombs! ...No...not a student any more. Probably not appropriate for a professor to be pitching dung bombs in his own classroom. And of course my notes were ruined and I was complete rubbish at History. Why couldn't I be teaching Defence...I was good at Defence.

"Now," I said very loudly, "who here would like to practice duelling?"

I grinned. That at least I did know how to teach. And who didn't like duelling? Much more exciting then History.

The student that I had quickly dubbed the most annoying in the world raised her hand. Again.

Which I ignored.

"The first thing you want to do in a duel is..." I began, showing the proper wand grip.

"I thought this was the History of Magic class!" a voice called out.

There was a murmur of agreement.

"Your point?" I ground out, thoroughly irritated.

Why were they questioning me? I was the professor. They weren't supposed to question the professor! I had never questioned a professor! ...Well, not to their faces at least!

"I'm sorry sir...but I don't really see how duelling has anything to do with..."

"Wars," I blurted out suddenly struck with inspiration.

"What?" she asked confused.

"Wars are a part of history, right?"

"Yes..."

"...And people generally duel in wars don't they?" I prompted.

"Yes..."

"Well, then duelling is a part of history!" Ha! Beat that. I beamed, proud that I had proven my point.

"I suppose so...but..."

Had she just...?! Bloody hell, it's only day one of classes! And she's a first year--how does she even know what's supposed to go on in these classes!

"Then...What. Is. The. Problem?" I ground out.

I was starting to understand why Snape had always been in such a rotten mood. The first years _were_ a bunch of annoying dunderheads!

"We're first years, sir."

"_And_...?"

First class and I already had a headache. Why did they have to make this so difficult?

"This is only the first day of classes...and we're first years--we don't know any spells yet, sir."

If I clutched my wand any tighter it'd snap in two.

"Then I'll teach you some spells..."

Oh, I'll teach them some spells alright... Wait! Now I'm actually starting to _think_ like Snape! Bad, Harry, bad. Must. Not. Curse. Students.

My next class was fourth years. I decided to try a different approach.

"What can you tell me about the Goblin Rebellions?" I asked, crossing my arms and leaning back against my desk. There, let them do the talking. There's no way that things could go wrong then.

"Ummm...there were a lot of them?" One student ventured.

"Yes...five points to Gryffindor." I bit back a grin. That's exactly what I knew about them too.

"They happened mostly in the 1600s and 1700s," another added.

Hmmmm...sure why not, sounds about right.

"Five points to Huffelpuff."

This was easy.

"What else can you tell me?"

"Armgit the Smelly was the name of one of the leading rebels," a student at the back said confidently.

"Good...five points to..."

"Wait, I thought it was 'Urg the Unclean' not 'Armgit the Smelly'," another student interrupted.

They all turned to me and a bead of sweat rolled down my back.

"Yes, well..." My eyes darted around and I searched my brain trying and failing to come up with an answer. I could not believe that I had been caught out so early. Then I got an idea.

"Homework!" I blurted out loudly.

Never said it was a particularly good idea.

More than a few students jumped in their seats at that and the whole class stared at me with amusement and a bit of fear. Great, now I was the idiot teacher who may or may not be insane.

"Your homework tonight is to write an essay on whether or not it was Urg or Armpit," I informed them.

"Armgit not Armpit!" One student called out, laughing.

"Yes, well...him too...Class dismissed," I added quickly.

"We've only been here ten minutes!" another student blurted out in surprise.

"Do you WANT to stay any longer?" I questioned. I sure as well didn't.

The class quickly shook their heads.

"Good--then off with you," I said waving them off.

As soon as the door closed behind the last student my head hit the desk. Repeatedly. My first day and I had already forgot my name and revealed my ignorance on the very subject I was supposed to be teaching. My God, I was the new Lockhart! (Worse then even--he would've never dreamed of forgetting his own name.) This is not good. I remembered what we had all said about Lockhart and I could only imagine what the students were now saying about me. Why had I thought that this was a good idea?

Twenty minutes later I reluctantly began my trek back to my quarters. The hallway was empty of students and I realized that they were all still in their classes. Except my students of course. They were probably back in their Common Rooms talking about what a complete idiot their History professor was...

"My word! Harry Potter is that you?"

I froze, the colour draining from my face. Had I somehow given myself away? I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing.

"Look, you must be mistaken..."

Opening my eyes I slowly turned around only to come face to face with none other than Sir Nicholas.

"Sir Nicholas?!"

"How can you be here...you are not a ghost and yet I had heard..." he asked in obvious confusion.

Shit. I had forgotten that only the living saw my 'new' appearance. The dead saw the real me just fine. And of course I decided to teach at a school just full of ghosts that had seen me here as a student.

Glancing around, I made sure that no one could overhear our conversation and was relieved to discover not only an empty corridor but also a portrait-less one. Seemed luck was on my side for once.

"Nick, you can't tell anyone--I'm not really supposed to be here--please promise you won't tell," I pleaded.

"You have my word--but how did you come to be here?"

"I'm a Grim Reaper...I can't pass on until I've met my quota," I explained.

"Your quota?" he inquired, intrigued.

"Souls...Recently departed only," I hastily added at his alarmed expression.

"Listen, do you think you could spread the word to the other ghosts not to give me away?"

"I shall do my best, Harry Potter," he reassured.

"Umm...could you not call me that? Sort of gives it away and all."

"Yes, yes, of course--completely sorry."

Later that evening I was standing at the edge of a Quidditch pitch with a bit of parchment clutched in my hand. My eyes scanned the field looking for my assignment. He wasn't too hard to find considering they all had their last names written on their backs. His name was Moonridge and he was apparently playing Chaser. A glance at my watch told me I still had another hour, so I sat back and enjoyed the game trying desperately to forget about my horrible day.

It was nearing the hour-mark when movement near a bludger caught my eye. Squinting I could just make out a graveling as it turned its red eyes on me. I swore it stared right at me as the bludger sailed towards Moonridge.

Jogging over to where he crashed, I swiftly collected his soul. Then I noticed the two people he had landed on. Quickly, my eyes scanned the pitch looking for any fellow Reapers.

There weren't any.

Feeling a bit unnerved, I bent down and collected their souls as well.

After sending them on their way, I headed to the Witch's Brew. Hopefully Bert would have an explanation on how I had come for one reap and ended up with three. But somehow I knew that I wasn't going to like what I was about to hear.

_Any and all reviews appreciated._


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